Page 49 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

Nowadays, Sara would give her right arm for her mother to take her to school, rather than endure the monotony of the school bus. Plus, in order for her to catch it and because high school started earlier than the primary, Sara had to get up a full hour before Bobby, which she thoroughly resented.

Oh, how the tables have turned, Harriet thought, remembering her daughter’s pleas to be driven to school that morning. Sara would, however, have the luxury of a lift home, because today was Year 7 parents’ evening, and Harriet had a number of appointments with Sara’s teachers to discuss her child’s progress.

Hastily, she barrelled into the house, fussed the dog for a few minutes, then scrambled up the stairs to change into something more suitable. As she was struggling to decide on an outfit (she didn’t want to look too formal, but neither did she want to look as though she’d not made an effort), Bobby blew in through the front door in a wave of excitement. He was desperate to have a look around the school he would be attending when he was older, and was envious that his sister was already there.

Harriet wished he wasn’t so keen to grow up. She was perfectly happy with him staying this age for a while. At the moment he was still her little boy and, having seen the abrupt surge in independence exhibited by her daughter since starting secondary school, Harriet wanted to hold him close for as long as she could.

‘Bobby, can you let Etta out for a wee?’ Harriet asked, hopping about on one leg as she tried to stuff the other into her skinny jeans and almost falling over.

She dragged them up her thighs and fastened the zip, then hunted in a drawer for a navy jumper to go over the white shirt she was planning on wearing. Teamed with a pair of soft leather boots that she’d had for years, and a suede jacket that was nearly as old as Bobby but luckily still fitted her, she thought she’d do.

‘Sorry, my darling,’ she said to the dog, who gazed at her with a mournful expression when she realised she was about to be abandoned again. ‘We’ll go for a walk later,’ she promised, although they wouldn’t go far because it would be dark by the time she got back. Thankfully, tea would be easy tonight – she had made lamb stew yesterday, in anticipation, so it would only need to be warmed through.

Bobby was bouncing around, urging her to hurry up, so she gave the dachshund a final pat.

‘Here,’ she said, handing Bobby a Tupperware box containing some snacks, knowing he would be hungry. ‘You can eat this on the way, and there’s a drink in my bag.’

‘Mrs Anton says I’m the bestest speller in the class,’ Bobby said, shovelling a handful of nuts into his mouth and chewing vigorously.

‘That’s fantastic. Well done!’

‘She gave me a sticker.’

‘I’m so proud of you.’ Harriet blew him a kiss.

‘I got another sticker for my poem. I’ll read it to you when we get home because I can’t remember all the words, but it’s about Owen.’ Bobby suddenly looked anxious. ‘Will he be cross that I made up a poem about him?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. Would you be cross if he wrote a poem about you?’

‘If it was nice I wouldn’t,’ Bobby replied reasonably.

‘Fair point. Is yours nice?’

He nodded. ‘Can I read it to him?’

‘I expect so.’

‘When will we see him again? I like him.’

Harriet liked him too. More than she thought was wise, considering he was a nomad and wouldn’t be around forever. But then again, Declan hadn’t been a nomad and he’d buggered off, so where someone lived and what they lived in seemed to be of little consequence when it came to the longevity of a relationship.

Had Owen been about to kiss her?she wondered for about the hundredth time since Saturday. Etta had seemed to think so. The dog used to be incredibly jealous whenever Declan came anywhere near her, not that he’d done so very often in the last few months they were together – and the dog had displayed the same reaction right at the point when Harriet thought she and Owen might have kissed.

Etta, you are an excellent method of birth control, Harriet thought, then let out a strangled cry.

‘Mam?’

‘Sorry, got a frog in my throat.’ Harried fake-coughed to prove the point.

Dear God, had she just been imagining something more than a kiss?

She had, hadn’t she? My, my…

Instead of the idea sending her running for the hills, the thought of spending the afternoon making love with Owen, cocooned in the bed over the van’s cab like their own private love-nest, made her go all peculiar.

The disappointment she had felt at Etta’s untimely interruption had been acute, and although she’d tried not to show it, she had gone home in a fog of unsatisfied hunger – which hadn’t had anything to do with the wonderful meal he’d cooked.

Over the past few days since their non-encounter, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, and every thought was coloured by the kiss that never was.

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